


The gentle art of making enemies

by MikeSierra



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/M, M/M, Scout's mom is a saint woman, comedy gold for that reason, everyone is dumb except the two spies, ok comedy bronze, poor RED Sniper, the other characters are pretty much all here too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:54:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22120612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikeSierra/pseuds/MikeSierra
Summary: BLU and RED Spies never really interact with each other outside the match. Still, their teammates had noticed in different occasions how their accents and eyes are completely identical, often arising doubts about which Spy is the one they're really talking to.This gave the two Frenchmen a fun idea.(The two Spies swap places for a day. Complications will follow, because they always do.)
Relationships: BLU Spy/RED Sniper, RED Spy/Scout's Mother, Scout's Mother/Spy (Team Fortress 2), Sniper/Spy (Team Fortress 2)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 143





	1. Chapter 1

BLU Spy was enjoying his well-deserved cigarette in peace, sitting on a flight of stairs in the RED base. Technically, the match was still continuing, but he thought that after the fifth stab of the day to the enemy Sniper, he had earned a little break for the chaotic screaming and the rockets fizzling through the air, from the helpless cries for Medic and from the explosions.  
Maybe, just maybe, he also felt a little bad for the enemy Sniper and he left him some time to move to another nest before going and keeping chasing him.  
He laid with his back on the rusty wall, unconcerned with the possible stains on his suit that would have followed: he had found out that the respawn took care of them, together with their mortal wounds. And since he was most surely going to die again before the end of the match, that wouldn't be a problem.  
Call it the silver lining of dying over and over again.  
When he was about to finish his first cigarette, he noticed on the other side of the dark red clay trail the enemy Spy quickly decloaking while sapping the BLU Engineer's teleporter. Nothing new - the BLU Spy kept on smoking in silence, not bothered enough to cloak. More impressed by the BLU Engineer who was able to put a sentry at the entrance of the RED base, actually. He lighted up his second cigarette, content in his chainsmoking.

The BLU found himself thinking about his RED counterpart as the latter (decloaked in the firm belief of being alone) took his time in activating the countdown of his sapper.  
Since the day they met, they didn't care for each other, really. Yes, they were both French, and they indeed had the same tasks in the matches, but the similarities ended there. He knew the RED had a relationship with the mother of the young BLU Scout, and for quite a few time now, while he had a... thing, with the enemy Sniper. Of course the first one was a fact known to both teams (to be honest, the one that knew last of this relationship had been the BLU Scout) while the second was a secret, and a shameful one even. And besides that, he found his own personality to be wittier, sometimes even more playful than the other. The RED, on the contrary, really seemed more of the lone-wolf type. He was older than him, after all.

"Saboteur!" He called for the RED, not too loud as to be heard by others, keeping his hands up open, cigarette held between his lips, as to show he did not intend to use his weapon.  
"Please, I just want to talk."  
He gestured to ask him to join him on the stairs. The enemy Spy simply stared at him, the gun still drawn from its holster, but as soon as he grasped the playfulness in his voice, he lowered the muzzle from eye-level to the soil.  
Even if they both recognized their differences in character, they had to admit that something connected the way they thought, maybe just because their job forced them to start thinking in the same way - the fight-or-flight instinctive response, for example. Well, that instinct just suggested to the RED that in the worst case, he would flip off the enemy Spy, but that was clearly intended as their sort of truce. And he was going to respect that.  
He put his gun back in his holster, reaching instead for a cigarette that the BLU lighted in silence with his own lighter. For a few moments, they simply stood there, smoking in the comfortable wordless company of the other.

"...Have you ever been told by yours, that we look identical?"

The RED turned to him, a little surprised by the question but nonetheless amused.  
"Several times. Once, I had my jacket off at the base and my own team's Heavy punched me in the face, thinking I were you. Mon Dieu, we weren't even in match, I was about to shower."

"Listen: let's switch for a day. You are me, and I'm you. But not just with the disguising kit - for real, this time. Clothes and all."  
"A 'Le Prince et le pauvre' sort of thing?"  
"Oui, exactly. The only goal is to not blow your cover being me, and to confuse the most people in the process. Can I count you in?"

The RED lowered his gaze, running his clear blue eyes along the dusty road, up to the sapped sentry. After a few distressed beeps, it decided it was finally time to self-destruct. He absent-mindedly stared at the sentry as it blasted metal splinters all over the place. Then he turned to the BLU.  
"Just one rule."  
The BLU raised a thin brow, staring at the man clad in red. What could the other object to such a simple but perfect plan? In a moment, popped into his head the thought of a RED Sniper behaving with the disguised RED as he started to behave with him lately - and with him alone. He found himself forced to hide his jealousy, a grimace covered by the last puff of the cigarette. The BLU nodded.  
"Oui, I can imagine. And I agree."  
"Good. And if I discover this has been one of your clever ruses and the rest of the BLU team knows, I'll make your pointless lives hell for the next weeks."

The BLU rolled his eyes in such an obvious display of impatience for the words of the other, that rarely would be shown if the man had been any other merc. Still, a small smile appeared at the corners of his thin lips.  
"You grossly overestimate the interest I pay in the outcome of these matches, in comparison to what would be a fun day different than the others."

Something in the RED's expression showed that finally he could be considered sold to the idea.

"Good. But the underwear remains on. It's Italian silk and, above all, it's mine."


	2. Chapter 2

Fresh in his red suit, the BLU Spy felt surprisingly awkward.  
Yes, the suit was a little too long for him, but it was a difference only perceivable by himself - the way his sleeves covered the wrists, slightly overlapping with the shirt cuffs instead of showing the starched fabric, for example, when he smoked.  
He had found in his breast pocket, together with a cigarette he promptly lit, a small black moleskine diary: classic style, very elegant, he thought while skimming through the pages. No marks on the days, just an endless to-do list, where the only uncrossed "to-dos" were the last three: he might even be able to do all them in the day.  
The first, noted in cursive letters, was of course:

《Match: 12 to 17》

He absently-mindedly looked at his wristwatch: nearly twenty minutes left on the match. With a sprint, he could have made the most out of it.  
He put the diary back into his breast pocket, crushed the cigarette butt under his heel, and quickly cloaked.

The RED base is unexpectedly half empty. He crossed the RED Pyro (chasing something invisible), the RED Demoman (drinking from a bottle that for the past half hour had been empty) and, considering it boring enough, he decided to go explore the base: would the other Spy consider it cheating? Probably not. After all, it's just a little scouting around that might help in future matches. He wouldn't blame the actual RED Spy if he did the same.  
He found the first room beside the main hallway filled with cardboard boxes and metal scraps, an half-built sentry in the middle of the room, deducing that must had been the Engineer's workshop.  
The Spy had always admired the technical knowledge of the other merc: after their matches, he sometimes followed BLU Engie around in his shop while he explained passionately the new contrivances he was working on. Both in a sincere curiosity of what those technological wonders could do, and in a secret hope that he could understand more easily the RED Engie's machinery the next time he had to meet him or one of his.

He exited just a few moments later, not bothering to cloak, too intent on admiring the flames for which he was responsible, reaching the ceiling with the occasional explosion here and there of some flammable components and the fizzling of the gasoline on metal, roasting it.  
There indeed was a beauty in what Pyro saw in fire, he could realize.  
He had decided to spare just what looked like the most complex blueprints, big papers rolled up under one arm.  
As he decided to leave the room because of the smoke and the heat, he found himself facing the BLU Pyro, maybe drawn by the smell of fire (could he smell behind that mask?). A moment of terror in realising he was currently wearing the RED suit. Another thought ran to what would happen in the case of his death and respawn: would he wear the same suit as he died in or, as in the case of the blood stains, would it go back to his original state - providing the match with two BLU Spies and zero RED? While that might have been enticing (and fun), he'd much rather not revive the experience of burning alive.  
With as much composure as he could fake, he passed the masked arsonist his roll of blueprints and then, with a courteous smile, he offered Pyro his lighter. To be more precise - he lighted the papers he was holding, then passed them to Pyro as it had been a flaming bouquet - adding also an affable tip of the hat.

"Much obliged. Have fun, mon amie."

Lighter in hand, he decided he could have lit himself a cigarette as well.  
After all, he deserved it.  
Cloaked again, it was time to mess up the medical bay next.  
On his way he crossed the BLU Spy, as in the Spy dressed in blue, meaning the actual RED Spy. The actual BLU Spy decloaked suddenly, his puff of smoke appearing from thin air with the person.

"Good afternoon"  
"Good afternoon."  
The Spy dressed in blue replied distractedly, passing him on his way to the exit.

He chose to lay low for the rest of the match. The BLU team was most surely going to win anyway, even if he didn't play the role of his counterpart.  
He couldn't say he had the most delightful quarter of an hour: he just remembered that on that same night, he had already planned a romantic dinner with Scout's mom - but it seemed it was too late to call off the plot he had with the other Spy. Still, the thought of disappointing his fiancée was stumbling through his head, disheartening him, and it showed in his every action.  
As he kept massaging his temples, he automatically directed to his own RED Medic bay for some painkillers - cloaking just when he realised he was wearing BLU colors.  
Oh, there were few things RED Spy really cared about, and few persons too: he had the (some would say, pretty useful) ability to completely discard the feelings of the ones he deemed not worth of his patience. That of course had to include the absolute totality of his own team's mercs, the other's team (for which, to be honest, he never really cared for enough to get to know).  
He had some respect for the young and overzealous Miss Pauling, and because of that respect, they never really got in touch outside of missions - secretly fearing the knowledge of other aspects of their lives would ruin the bulletproof esteem they had for each other. Actually, he once found an half-drunk Miss Pauling in his house, in the middle of the night, while Scout was out getting pizzas during one of their unlikely dates. In that, and in that occasion only, Miss Pauling dared address him personally, telling him she really admired his work etiquette. Then she succeeded to permanently ruin the upholstery of his sofa with the contents of her stomach.  
She was young, very young. He had to admit she had some kind of class - and for that, he was happy for his son Jeremy, BLU Scout, to have found someone such as her.  
But she wasn't, and she could never be, comparable to Scout's mom.  
The most beautiful, selfless, pure woman in the world. To his eyes, his whole universe.  
And now he was going to let her have a romantic dinner at the only restaurant worthy to be called so in Teufort, with a complete stranger. Well, not a complete stranger - he knew the BLU Spy from his secret files, gathered for the Administrator: he knew what the other liked, what he did before he came to the city, where he had lived.  
While crossing the RED Blu Spy - as in, the BLU Spy disguised in red - he was only able to blurt out a "Good afternoon", before exiting the base and directing to one of the warehouses.

He realised that while he had been pondering on how to make it up to Scout's Mom for what would happen that night, he had walked from the RED to the BLU base. After a few years of ambushing in there and sapping Engie's machinery, he could easily say he knew the enemy base as if it was his own. Luckily for him, because that day it actually became his own.  
He took a look around, then with a wary look he took out of his breast pocket for the hundredth time that day, the cigarette case, sliding out of it a single cigarette. With it, came the BLU Spy's pocket diary: a Moleskine, blue. Someone really took to the heart his own team's color, he thought rolling his eyes.  
The first note for the day read:

《Match + dinner at base》

Dinner at base, as in, with the others? Great.  
Something told him that the BLU Spy suggested that ruse on that day just to get him stuck on a dinner with an after-match winning, pumped up BLU team.  
Well, he succeeded - at least, if the RED Spy didn't want to disappear or reveal the truth to the others. But at that point, he would lose their little bet, of who can resist longer without letting it known. In that moment he realised that the actual challenge going on between the two Spies had the nature of establishing who was the best Spy.  
Well, that was putting things differently - he had to win it.  
He decided to move up with his tasks, and read the second planned note for the current day:

《Anniversaire Mundy, 21.00》

Suddenly, a coughing fit.  
Wasn't 'Mundy' the name of his own team, RED Sniper? And most importantly did he mean "Anniversaire" as in the French for 'birthday' or as in a relationship anniversary? He honestly wouldn't remember the guy's birthday: the marksman was quite introverted while on base, and their brief exchanges had never concerned anything personal for what had to do with the Australian. Of course, Mundy knew about his bond with the BLU Scout, so paradoxically Sniper knew more of Spy than Spy knew of Sniper.  
Correction: he could access his files any time, he just didn't bother to remember - and so now, he had to find out if it actually was his birthday.  
Because it couldn't be his anniversary with BLU Spy, right?  
He raised his eyes to the skyline of the base: where the industrial rooftops of the cardboard buildings met the cloudy sky, right there, a metallic sparkle glistened, blinding him briefly. The glare of the peep-sight of a sniper rifle.

He stealthily cloaked, the cigarette left to burn out on the ground while he quickly reached the corner of the rooftop from where he had just seen the sparkle: swiftly inside the building (one of the actual concrete, not the cardboard ones), up the flight of stairs to finally step on the breezy rooftop. There he was, the Australian, laying on his stomach with his eye through the scope.  
Without a doubt, he imagined, the BLU Spy had a sort of special connection with the RED Sniper: two grown men celebrating together a birthday were, at least, good friends. So he must go for the friendly approach, hoping in the meantime to reveal some information about what they had planned for the evening.  
The Spy dressed in blue stepped forward, uncloaking just when he had finally been standing beside the thigh of the Sniper; the butterfly knife ready in his hand, just in the case of an unfriendly reaction.

"It's not polite to stare at someone so intensely, mon ami. One might call you...a spook."

He had heard the RED Sniper talking about recent attacks of the enemy Spy, calling him 'spook' - he couldn't say it was a bad description.

"Ya never looked like it bothered you, me staring. Did ya?", the Sniper chuckled softly, not moving from his position not even to look up at him. They really must have been friends after all - the RED Spy had never heard such a warm shade in the marksman's voice.  
Truth be told, he had seen a sharp decrease in Sniper's killings of the enemy Spy lately, now explained: Mundy liked to follow him around through that damn scope.  
That made the scale lean to the side of a possible secret romantic relationship of the two, instead of a friendship. He had to act accordingly: should he kiss him? No, probably not. Hopefully not. He had done way worse to way worse people, but that would leave a trace of awkwardness in their relationship.  
The fake BLU Spy sat down beside him, and with improvised nonchalance he laid down looking up at the sky, placing the back of his head on the Sniper's shoulder. His lighter out of his breast pocket, he-

"No smoking on my rooftop mate, I've told ya. You're gonna give away my spot with the smoke."

He hissed out a groan. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on slowing out his heartbeat to sound more relaxed and at ease, as the other seemingly did the same. His ear so close to the other's back, he could feel the Australian's ribcage rising and falling in its slow breathing. While faking their chemistry, the Spy found genuinely interesting seeing from a closer angle how the other merc worked.  
At once, he felt the marksman's breathing stop, the muscles of his shoulder shifting, tensing: after a few seconds, a shot echoed in the air. The Spy shifted position, accommodating his head back after the other recharged. He realised he held his breath as the marksman did, in anticipation. It reminded him of his father, hunting for rabbits back in France, the times he'd let him stick along. Relaxing.

"So… at nine tonight, right?" he muttered after a while, head up at the clouds while peeking at his face with the corner of one eye.

"Is this an invitation, spook? RSVP?"

Oh, crap. That was supposed to be a surprise. What the hell, BLU Spy. Specify your info.

"Yes. But now I realise I should have talked with your secretary first."

"Ha ha. No need to get your panties in a twist, just teasing ya." and again, that damn warm voice. The Spy was starting to sort out the kind of relationship he had with BLU Spy. This might have become harder than expected. The disguised RED Spy put an inscrutable, thoughtful face. Luckily the Sniper couldn't see him.

"I'd be glad to join ya, spook. Only thing, I promised my team beers and grills after match. We're losing, y'know, so we all kind of need it."

The Sniper finally moved, twisting his wrist closer to his face, to look at the time. Then he rolled on a side, his weight pinned on one elbow to allow himself to look at the other so comfortably supine on his side.

"But let's meet at eight, my van. I'd hate to leave ya waiting." he concluded, in an audible smirk. He held up his rifle, pinning himself up on an arm and standing, pulling up with himself also the Spy.  
The voice of the Administrator crackled on the speakers all around the base, declaring the end of the match and the victory of the BLU team. The marksman suddenly passed an hand around the BLU Spy's waist to pull him closer to himself, the rifle still shouldered but raised up to point at the sky. He left a quick kiss on the Frenchman's lips, teasing, greedy.  
Leaving the - wrong - Spy speechless.

"Good game, spook. See ya later."

The RED Sniper stepped down the stairs, reaching quietly his base. He had sensed the BLU Spy as colder than usual, less playful. Literally zero sexual innuendos in what the Frenchman said to him - that was rare. Maybe he had had a bad day, or maybe he was hiding something from Mundy.  
It was his birthday, after all.

When he entered the large RED dining room, Mundy was greeted by the familiar smell of barbecue grilling and the unluckily as familiar sight of an Engineer in sweatpants and apron, sweating profusely behind said grill. Demoman filling up beer hats with whiskey, Scout filling up other beer hats with BONK! and mischievously switching said beer hats with Demo's.  
Mundy gave Scout 20 minutes at best, before the boy did something incredibly stupid and hurt himself.  
The Aussie took a sit near the RED Spy, apparently the only merc that didn't need beer to function at the moment.  
Even if, to be honest, he was matching the reading of classified files with a fine glass of red wine.

"What ya reading, Spy?"

"The files of our team." The Spy dressed in red raised his eyes from the papers to cross the other's, nosiness hidden behind an icy blue stare. The RED team's mercs had interesting pasts, and going through their files so effortlessly was for sure a smart use of his time while dining all together, waiting for him.  
He still couldn't believe that the actual RED Spy was going on his date with Mundy, that same evening.  
He tried to conceal his interest for the Australian's movements, to catch a glimpse of his skin - but with poor results. His red tie loosened on his neck, one button open, sensing he could allow himself to get a little at ease now that the match was over.

"I had the pleasure to notice it's your birthday, Mundy. Sorry for you, if you're going to spend it with us." he smirked.  
What's with the new maliciousness in the RED Spy? Mundy couldn't tell whether it had been the wine (the RED Spy was used to get a little talkative while drunk) or something else entirely, but he found something different in the Frenchman, something more appealing than the usual. Maybe he was just reading into it, but he could brag to know enough the Spy (both spies, actually) to not notice he was hiding something. Maybe it was a surprise.  
Now that he thought of it, both the Frenchmen did seem a little suspicious that day. He decided not to confront the Spy on it, and just observe and wait for what would have followed.  
He poured himself some of the French red wine in his mug, sipping it. When he raised his gaze, his brown eyes met the Spy's, staring at him before the Frenchman gave him an offended glare with a weird delay in response.

"You're spoiling the taste, pouring it in the mug. It oxygenates too much."

Mundy looked into his mug: the wine didn't look spoiled at all.

"I'm not that sophisticated, y'know. I just find it a very good wine."

He noticed the small smile appearing at the corners of the RED Spy's lips.  
Something in his mind made it so hard to look away.

"Men, rally 'round!"

They both turned from their silent conversation to the middle of the room, where a RED Solly and Zhanna somehow managed to find a shipment worth of fireworks without Pyro intercepting and stealing them.  
RED Soldier looked like he was preparing for a speech, hand in hand with his Russian girlfriend.

"There are three ways to do things: the right way, the wrong way and the Army way.  
And son, the Army way is the right way!  
Let's light up this Fourth of July!"

Sniper's birthday fell in mid-September.  
Solly passed the first firework to a yearning Pyro, leaving the full box on the grill - the lit grill, still with burgers on it. With fire and ember in it.

At the first explosion, both Spy and Sniper found themselves heading out in the hallway, their glasses still half-empty in hand.

"Magnificent. Monsieur Mundy, I think I'm going to retire early in my quarters. Our dinner would have been substandard anyway."

"Yeah, I guess so. But still, such a waste of meat."

With an heavy heart and an empty stomach, the marksman nodded the other goodbye and quietly turned to direct in his own room, except for being stopped by a gloved hand in between the firework haze that was starting to spread even in the hallway.  
Suddenly he felt the soft touch lips brushing his cheek. Ah, yes, he could see Spy now: two kisses on the cheeks, the European way of parting. Still, it was quite rare of the RED Spy to be this affectionate to him - and in general, with anyone of the team.  
Was that supposed to be… a birthday present?

"Have a nice evening, Mundy. Reserve some time to celebrate."

"Mate, wait-  
Is everything alright? You look weird today.  
Something happened? I don't know, maybe with Scout?"

"Non, nothing. But I reckon I'm somehow off today. I'm going to try to have some sleep now."

And so he went in his room, leaving the Sniper with an empty stomach and somehow, also butterflies in it, not relieving the weird feeling.  
From there on, both the RED Sniper and the actual BLU Spy led the same actions: they both showered, shaved, got dressed up in casual clothes and left their rooms, one shortly after than the other, moved by hunger and two dates, both scheduled with the wrong person.  
The BLU Spy left his bloody red suit behind, choosing a dark red satin shirt and a pair of dark blue slacks with a jacket to match. In the first hour of nighttime, he left the RED base and directed to his counterpart's bright red sports car. Someone really took to the heart his team's color.  
Mundy wore a simple white shirt - to be honest, he wasn't a guy for shirts. Their flimsy fabric left him skeptic of their resistance in an operative scenario. However the BLU Spy seemed to really have a soft spot for him dressed like that, even if he had never admitted it clearly.  
White shirt, blue jeans and an brown leather jacket: he left the base in anticipation and with a weirded out feeling about the RED Spy. He would have liked to delve into what was happening to him that night, if he hadn't already some plans with the BLU Spy - his BLU Spy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A disguised (and very gay) BLU Spy goes on his date with Scout's mom.  
> He's good at lying, but has a very particular French accent.  
> Remember that "Jeremy" is BLU Scout.

BLU Spy was nervous, his hands even a little sweaty outside the door of Scout's mom's house.  
Just an hour before, while he was changing clothes at the RED base, he had found a present the RED Spy intended to give to his girlfriend. What could that be, lingerie? Something even more intimate, regarding some weird aspects of their sex lives?  
Hopefully not.   
The last time he went out with a girl, he was only a teenager - and he felt exactly the same type of discomfort. He hoped he would have never to relive the experience, even if only faking it.  
In a sense, he could say he was putting on two masks: in liking women, and in loving that particular young woman, as only her boyfriend did (presumably, he didn't know their private lives if not by his dossier).  
He placed an hand over his eyes, trying to push out of his mind the anticipation of second-hand embarrassment coming from seeing the woman, another man's girlfriend in her lingerie, while disguised as his husband in their intimacy… no, that would be too much.  
If something like that would have ever happened, he would have to draw the line there, and put an halt to the shenanigans.  
That silent promise they made, that was what it was all about. If that meant it was the moment in which the Spies had to betray their disguises, be it so.  
Her light feet came to open the door as the man approached, and so now she was standing there, staring at the man lost in his own train of thoughts.

"It's all right, honey? You don't seem too well."

"...that's nothing, my petite chou-fleur."

Bold move, going in with the French so soon. Hopefully she wouldn't notice the slightest change in accent between the two Spies. The softest kiss on her cheek, as he stepped in the doorway with such confidence as if the house were his own.

"You look like the purest orchid of the ponds in my eyes" Cheesy, lame and recycled from his first - and only - date with a girl.  
"Dinner is waiting for us, dear."

The disguised BLU Spy found the woman in front of him of a sweet simplicity, hardly conveyed by the mugshots and camera footage in his possession.  
In person, she had these amazing black eyes, angled like those of a cat. She was cute, very cute while simply dressed, thought the wrong Spy - but in a way completely different from how her Spy, the man she was in love with, watched her.  
Still, their ice blue eyes seemed perfectly identical to her - because they were.  
He managed to put on a gracious smile, taking her hand as if she had been an old friend. A quick kiss again on both cheeks, right there on the doorstep.

"You're so sweet, today..."

She noticed with a composed smirk, somehow tongue in cheek.  
He, in turn, noticed that shift in tone. Oh, great - she already suspected him. She must have known.  
What did reveal him? Too many kisses? Too little kisses?

"...do you think I don't know what's going on?"  
She placed both hands on her slim hips, a reproaching look on her face. More of a childish pout, actually.  
Oh, and she had a Boston accent. Given how Scout talked, that wasn't news. A sweet Boston accent that was about to reveal his ruse in all his cruel stupidity.

"...you bought me a present. Jeremy told me today, he saw you wrapping it this morning at your base.  
Love, you should know how he cannot keep his mouth shut around me."

The BLU Spy gave out a low, genuinely relieved laugh.  
"Oui, but at least he didn't see what was inside."

He led her to the car, and from there it was easy to guess the name of the restaurant: the only restaurant he knew to be worthy of being considered as such in Teufort, ran by Europeans expats. Italians, not French, but still.  
While inside, the manager greeted them without a presentation was needed, addressing them by "the madame and the monsieur". Now that he thought about it, it made sense - they were the ideal customers of that type of restaurant.

Once they sat down, Spy started to notice her eyes following his every movement. She was impatient, and oh, so delightfully easy to read. Maybe that was one reason why RED Spy loved her so much.

"What are you waiting for, my marguerite?" he smirked, well knowing the reason.  
Before she could even answer, the waitress came with their wine. Between the two filled glasses, the Spy placed the famous present, with a confidence he shouldn't have had, considering the fact that he knew as much as Scout's mom on the contents of that very box.  
She placed her gentle, manicured hands oven the elegant package. As she unwrapped it, she revealed a much smaller envelope. BLU Spy tried to hide his surprised (and intrigued, at this point) reaction behind his glass of wine.  
Said envelope contained a refined card, a short inscription handwritten by RED Spy in black ink, together with two types of tickets coming in pairs: two plane tickets plus two hotel tickets.  
Without even looking where they were destined to, the young lady read the card, gasping a little as she looked at him with lovestruck eyes.  
With hardly dissimulated surprise, he held both her hands, participating in her enthusiasm. Really hoping she would have said something first to hint at the content of all those cards.

"Love, this means so much to me too. You know I've always wanted to see it.  
Je t'aime."

He bent over the table, gently placing an hand on her cheek as he kissed her other peachy cheekbone. She was the purest thing he had ever seen, sweet, naive even. While doing so, he tried to sneak a peek at the destinations of the tickets, but without any luck.

"Moi aussi. Je ne peux pas l'attendre, ma petite violette."

She giggled.  
Wait, why did she giggle?

"Are you practicing already, mon cher?" she thought she sounded smart, witty, behind her glass of white wine, and her clumsy pronunciation of French.

"What?"

"Belgian French. I thought you sounded a little Belgian today.  
You're doing it on purpose, ain't you?"

The BLU Spy felt all his blood flushing down his face all of a sudden. Moving his hand, he turned the plane ticket to openly read the destination.

Belgium.

A trip to Belgium.

How could she, a Bostonian, recognise the faintest Belgian accent in his French? He'd been trying to conceal it his whole adult life.  
Did RED Spy ever tell her that his counterpart was Belgian? Of course not, why would have he, right?  
Must just have been a coincidence, that they had planned a trip in his actual home country. He relaxed a bit, and put on a cheesy smile.

"Oui, I find it a funny accent."

"And then," continued the most gracious woman he had ever known, with a smile on her painted lips, to unconsciously and finally make his heart stop:  
"...once we get to your father's hometown, we could tell him about our plans to marry."

BLU Spy was dazzled. If she knew he was Belgian, so she found out of the swap, why was she talking as if he was still RED Spy?  
In the misunderstanding, he had realized the best strategy was to play dumb.

"...My father's hometown, chérie?"

"Of course. Ain't your father living in Belgium? You told me some years ago."

Of course he did.  
BLU Spy tried to remember the profiling information on RED Spy's file at the base - the counterpart's info dossier was the one he had read most carefully, just a few hours before. So he was pretty sure he remembered all information contained in his file: his old mother lived near Paris, while no data was found on his father.   
Until now, at least.

That was more than a coincidence - an opportunity. To make up stuff.  
He lit up all of a sudden, fork still in hand with a piece of their usual sliced steak.

"But of course. Let me tell you something about my father's hometown…"

And just with that, she was hooked by the soothing voice of her companion's tale: he spent the rest of the dinner depicting the small town he was born and raised in. The dense net of canals, the water wheels, children playing hide and seek among the small wood bridges. How the villagers had to move by boat, because the roads of the old town weren't big enough for cars.  
The deeper he got into the story, the less he had to put effort into lying. It was simply a game of not telling the details that might have clashed to what RED Spy had already told her about his past: yes, in the town where his father lived there were indeed children playing on the cobblestone roads, he just omitted that he was one of those kids. And his father - French in origin, even if he didn't know from which city exactly - was this loving presence that followed him all the way through his childhood, leaving only for brief periods of time, supposedly doing the same job as BLU Spy found himself to be doing years later.

As he was recounting, in the back of his mind he spared a silent thought for how could have really been RED Spy's father, even if the completely blank space under the "Family" section in his personal dossier, on the side of his father, bothered him for some reason.  
And instilled a corrosive suspicion in him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A disguised RED Spy has to meet Sniper for a romantic dinner.  
> And...the end of the story!

A knock on the door of the van, light. Another, more decisive this time.  
The RED Spy, disguised as the BLU (even if casually dressed) waited impatiently outside that grungy location for a date with the RED Sniper that would have ended, in all possible scenarios, terribly.  
That wasn't a good start.

"Up here, mate."

A bang on the metal ladder on the back of the van, echoing in the night of the desert wasteland.  
Oh, great. Now they were going to fuck on the roof of a van. The RED Spy had to admit that, before Scout's mom, he had enjoyed the company of worse women (and men) than Sniper. But still, it was hard to beat a less comfortable setting than the dirty roof of a lone wolf of a marksman's van. They would have probably been in company of several piss jars - he thought, while climbing reluctantly the ladder to reach the top of the van.  
What he found over it was easily ten times better than he imagined: a simple plaid blanket was spread out over the roof, when Mundy sat quietly with some beers and what looked like an open bottle of wine. French wine.  
He found the Australian staring down at him with a smirk on his face, who in turn was maybe anticipating how the night would have gone. When Mundy acknowledged the dazed look on his face, he simply chuckled and laid down on his back, his arms folding under the back of his head as a headrest.

"Yeah, you don't like the roof idea, I see that now.  
But just give it a try, I promise it's better than how it sounds."

The wrong Spy soon realized he was both overdressed and too much dressed for the summer's night date outside: he took off his suit jacket, placing it at a side of the blanket.  
He would find… natural, apt for the moment to greet a lover with a kiss, at the beginning of their date. So he tried, Spy crawled closer until they were side to side. Even bent a little bit over the Australian, laying his lazy gaze over his features lit by the moonlight.

Red alert.  
Something was blocking him.  
Hell, something broke inside RED Spy. The same guy, just for the record, that not longer than two years before had kissed a drunk Russian boss, just as a part of a gory mafia initiation ceremony.  
Seeing the teammate so often, and getting to know him in such a platonic way, and not counting nearly dying together for real, once… he realized with a hint of panic that the fake kiss was never going to happen. Not if he had to be the one starting it, at least.  
He couldn't betray Mundy's trust and, what's more, he promised BLU Spy.

"...the stars. You can see them all, now.  
It really is dark, the desert."

Did Mundy detect his discomfort and tried to change the topic?

"I thought it would'a been... romantic, y'know. You told me you wanted to learn constellations' names, and tonight's a great occasion for it. They're beautiful.  
A little gift from the sky for my birthday."

Oh, thank God - the Spy thought. 'Anniversaire', birthday.

"And for the day we got together."

Crap. So they actually were together.

That felt like the perfect moment to say something sweet. Something deep, heart-felt.  
The only chance the RED Spy had to lie, in that confused state of emotions, was to tell his truth.  
Sat beside him, he started to speak with unusually low voice - as if he didn't want to be heard.

"Mundy, I know we didn't meet that much long ago, after all. This may sound… weird, coming from me.  
But you know me, I'm proud, I have a bad temper. I tend to shelve away my feelings.  
The fact is, I feel like I cannot convey how much knowing you meant to me, in the time we were here in Teufort.  
You helped me get in touch with my…my..."

…my family. You saved my son, or better I saved my son, but you were there, bloody and half dead, and you still chose to witness it all: the moment I thought I lost Jeremy, the bottom of my despair. Such a revolting emotion that hid deep in my memory ever since, not even touched again by myself.  
And you were there, a silent support.  
The Spy swallowed. He forced himself to remember that, for all the other knew, he still was the BLU Spy. His boyfriend.

"...with my emotions. I didn't think I could bond in such a way with anyone else. Didn't think I was capable of it, to be honest."

He managed not to lie to the person, that moment made him realize was one of the people he had to be most grateful to. A true friend, if he ever knew any.

Mundy simply stared at him with eyes wide open, shifting his gaze from the beautiful complexity of constellations to another, smaller in dimension but just as wonderful - at least to his eyes.

"Come here, mate. Take a sit close."

And so he did, snuggling close to the Australian. They both looked at the lit up sky, not really feeling the need to learn constellations' names to appreciate them in all of their magnificence. It sure was dark, in the desert wasteland.  
That platonic intimacy wasn't probably considered flirting in the silent pact between the two Spies. 

"Starry night," Spy commented after a while.

"Yeah. Cezanne, right?"

Spy glared at him sideways. Luckily for both, in the dark.  
But Sniper must have sensed it, because he turned to gaze at his face, emitting a distressed hum after a few moments.

"You look different, Antoine. Something happened?"

"...and yet, you look exactly the same. One might think you didn't even change your clothes."

"I did. My clothes just all look the same." Sniper was caught by surprise by the caustic reply.  
He thought the date had been going fairly well, and couldn't make sense of that dry response. He washed off the bitter in his mouth with a sip of beer, going back to the stars above their heads.

The Spy, in turn, was left with a bitter taste in his mouth too, because of the name the Australian called him. He could brag to be an expert detective of information, and his work on BLU Spy has been thorough and complete.  
And Antoine wasn't BLU Spy's real name.  
Of course, a lie like that would be fairly normal for a Spy, but to be honest RED Spy thought that his lovers deserved to call him by his real name. And Sniper did too. He was a good guy after all, and he was starting to get invested in that relationship after all.

"Mundy, my true name isn't Antoine. I'm Jules."

"Oh.  
...  
Wait. Like your brother?"

Now it was RED Spy's turn to be surprised. He stared at the other in astonishment, and what he then spoke was the simple, unfiltered truth, as he tried to make sense of that situation.

"Yes, actually my father had another son named Jules after me.  
We are both Jules.  
It was...his father's name, our grandpa's."

A weird coincidence, at very least.  
He knew from the start that both Spies had the same real name - Jules. He blamed it on the Administrator's sick sense of humor, to find two similar Frenchmen as her spies, with the same name.  
But...how thin were the chances for both of them of having a brother also named Jules?

"...That reminds me, I don't remember if I already told you about my hometown."  
With concealed interest for the matter, RED Spy softly took hold of the other's hand, as to urge an answer out of him. Then, in fear that might have led to… excessive intimacy, he took it off.

"Yeah. Not like I remember the name, but it was a village in Belgium, close to the French border. You told me that your father fled after the war from Paris, where he had your older brother, and then he had you in Belgium, lived with your ma'n everything…"

"...Merde, BLU Spy's my brother." he muttered.

A sudden wave of shock, both the young men felt for different reasons. Still, RED Spy was polite enough to detach from the other's one-sided embrace, now that he indirectly revealed he wasn't his actual boyfriend.

"I...have to go." He concluded then, massaging his temples. He lit himself a cigarette, realizing the extent of that revelation: the guy he backstabbed to death several times a match, the guy he so relentlessly tortured for a job - that same enemy Spy, was his younger half-brother.  
He tossed the cigarette from the roof of the van.  
They could have lived their childhoods together, with an actual dad instead of a recollection of it.  
He put on again his suit jacket.  
A blind sense of envy redirected to his BLU counterpart. But it wasn't his fault whether he got to have a full family, and not just a single mom raising a boy the best she could.  
The thought shifted to Scout's mom, his true love. He had to tell her, to tell BLU Spy - and he knew where to find them.

"I have to go tell him." he repeated.

"I can drive ya there," said a very confused Sniper. The offer was welcomed with a silent nod.  
So they did.

While they were driving from the base to Teufort town, Sniper tried to make sense of what happened so far.  
As a scant number of street lamps lighted the way in the inky outskirts, he was the one who dared start to speak.

"...so you're the RED, then?"

"Exactly." The Spy didn't sound too eager to give explanations at the moment, but he had to acknowledge the situation must have been confusing for the marksman.

"And it was you also before, at the base?"

"Yes."

"Aight."

The Spy seemed thoughtful, in the passenger's seat of the van. 

"I guess this evening didn't go as you expected to, Mundy. It's your anniversary, after all - one usually spends it with his lover.  
For what it may count, I'm sorry for that."

He heard the other chuckle. Well, at least he didn't seem he was going to lash out by this turn of events. If the roles had been switched, RED Spy most probably wouldn't have been so patient.

"...but I can assure you there's a BLU Spy way more awkwardly managing a dinner date with my wife."

"Oh. Did you two already marry? Scout didn't tell me anything."

"We'll do it soon. And...Scout will know, eventually."

As soon as the BLU Spy caught a glimpse of the blue mask entering the restaurant together with his Mundy, he hurried to get hold of both Scout's ma's hands, leaning on the table.

"Madame, I am sorry to inform you I am not your real future husband. But here he comes, and I am very happy for your engagement. My best wishes..."

As soon as he finished speaking, the BLU Spy in a red mask stood up, just in time to face his enemy counterpart, a grin on both faces as they tried to convey what they wanted to say to each other, still possibly looking smug in front of their respective partners.  
Because confidence in all types of events was what it was all about, being Spies. Being Jules, maybe.

"...If you're here, you revealed yourself first. I won the challenge." his chin tilted up, the actual BLU Spy sounded proud. As a toddler who just won a game against his older brother.

"Yes you did, mon frère." the slightest, but warmest smile RED Spy had given anyone in a long time.


End file.
